


101 Days

by aj_socks



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aj_socks/pseuds/aj_socks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Justin leaves for New York, he sparks a flame in a man he meets once and becomes the object of his obsession. Told in the stalker's 2nd person POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	101 Days

The first time you saw him, all you saw were his hands. Pale, artistic, perfect. They hold a man with brown hair and seductive lips parted just enough to see his tongue daring you to kiss him. Colors blaze all around him as if to distort the subtle image of the hands at his waist and direct your eyes to his own. You want to purchase it and while you are searching around for a price another man walks up and stands next to you.

"Do you like it?" He asks, his hands fiddles with one of his belt buckles. "I didn't want to display it because I'm not selling it, but they insisted."

"It's powerful." You can't help but compare his hands to the hands in the picture. You notice his pale skin and the shadows created by his veins and bones as they move are identical to the painting. You look up from his hands to his blue eyes and say, "I wanted to buy it."

He tries not to smile, but his lips curve slightly upward and his cheeks flush. You can't help but smile with him and soon you are both grinning like fools. Others walk past them, some frowning at your barely audible chuckle that disrupts the silence. The artist ignores them and turns his eyes to you as he says, "I'm glad you liked it. I'm sorry I can't sell it to you. If anyone was going to get it I would have preferred it to go to someone like you."

"Like me?"

"Normal." He clarifies. "Not a snobby rich person that doesn't know a thing about art."

You nod, trying to appear understanding but an urge inside you begs to tell the truth – that the only reason you are here is to escape the rain and that you know squat about art. Instead you clear you throat and say, "I need to get going."

"That's too bad."

You leave quickly and pull up your jacket to cover your head as you run down the drenched streets of New York. Your apartment is only a few blocks from the gallery, so you resist the urge to hail a taxi and eventually make it back. The stairs are littered to wet shoe prints from other residents and you add yours to theirs as you climb them. There are not any footprints leading to your apartment on the third floor and you smile when you look back at them. When you get inside your change into sweats and a t-shirt with a big Q in the middle. The kitchen is only big enough to fit one person if the bathroom door, which is right next to the fridge, is closed. It isn't, even though your roommate promised to close it, and you slam it shut before you grab a sandwich from the fridge. There isn't a decent table because the couch takes up most of the living room slash kitchen, so you take a cold sandwich to the couch and just as your butt hits the cushion, you breath a sigh of relief. The bread is stale, but there is nothing better to eat so you force yourself to eat half before your girlfriend walks in the door.

"Stephen?" She sets her purse down on the counter then walks to the couch. "I have a bone to pick with you."

"Really."

"Yes." She sits down next to you, leaning on your arm and pressing her hip to yours. "You never take me out anymore."

"I know."

"Stephen! Don't you care at all? I heard about this new restaurant from my mother that's nearby called La Marie's. She said it was just wonderful and everyone was so polite there."

"Is it expensive?"

"A bit. But you can't help that. It's a French place."

"I hate French restaurants."

"But you like french fries."

"That really has nothing to do with it."

"Please! Can't you even go out just once a month? Is that asking too much? I swear I don't know why I stay with you at all. All you do is work, work, work, but you never spend any money."

"That's because -" The bedroom door next to the television slaps the edge of the T.V stand. Sarah and your eyes immediately go to Gavin, who is standing where the door was with only a sheet around his waist. His face is scrunched up and his narrow eyes have focused his glare on you. A young girl gasps and covers herself with a pillow on the bed, but you can still see her round, pink nipple peeking out from behind the white pillow case. "Sorry, Gavin. I'll keep it down." You assure him before he pulls the door shut with a bang. The wall shudders in the aftermath of his rage and a torn piece of wallpaper swings to the side.

"What a jerk," Sarah mutters. She snakes her arm around yours and pulls your elbow against her breasts. "You didn't see that girl in there, did you?"

"No." You take another bite of your sandwich only to realize that the meat is room temperature, and you scowl. "Fine. We'll go to the damn restaurant."

"That's great!" She leans closer to you so that she can pull a piece of paper from her back pocket. She finally lets go of your arm, if only to unfold it, then hands you a Google map. "This is where it is. We'll go there tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Sarah continues to talk but you ignore her. You notice the faded orange wallpaper and can't help but imagine how it must have once beamed with color like the painting. You feel a hand against your should that nudges you to the side a bit and you turn your eyes back to Sarah. She grabs your hand and squeezes it.

"Stephen, are you okay?"

You don't reply to her. Your eyes have wandered back to the strip of orange paper hanging onto the wall. In your mind, you can hear his voice perfectly and visualize the painting as if you were still standing in front of it. But soon, as night grows darker and the sun creeps up over the horizon as you sleep, his voice fades away until only the memory of his masterpiece remains.

Day 26

 

La Marie's cannot be avoided for another night, so you invite Gavin to your torture, though you can't help but smile in delight of his ignorance. He has a new girl by the hip when he shows up at the restaurant and Sarah whispers in your ear: "Who's that? His new whore? I'm so glad you're not like that."

Sarah intertwines her fingers with your as you are lead to the table. The hostess skillfully tries to avoid going past the registers, but you can see the locked drawer. The light from the kitchen bounces from the silver drawer like a ray of light from the sun. You think of the disgusting money inside – contaminated with dirt and germs, from sneezes to little children to sweat from buttocks that sat on the thin pieces of currency.

"Your server will be with you in just a moment." The hostess directs the comment to Gavin, who flashes a grin at her without his new girl noticing the lustful gaze he casts at her as she leaves.

"So what do you do?" You hear Gavin's girl ask, but you don't realize that the question is directed at you until you stop staring at the cash register and see the two girls staring at you.

"Stephen runs a bookstore." Gavin supplies after a few moments of silence. "He inherited it from his dad when he died."

"Really? I love reading! Which bookstore is it -"

"Hello, sorry to interrupt. My name is Justin and I'll be your server today. Is there anything I can get for you? Wine, Martini, Spritzer?"

His voice is stronger than last time with an edge to it that you don't remember. You look up at him in the fake candlelight and notice how much darker his hair appears here and how his eyes are blue like the ocean. He plays with the sleeve of his white button down as he talks, as if his hands are itching to do something else than be standing in front of you. His notepad it stuck in the big pocket of a forest green apron that covers his black slacks. When he smiles it is directed at you, and you cannot stop staring at him and hope he remembers you.

Everyone quickly replies with their beverage of choice, but when he comes to you with an expectant expression, you freeze. You can't think. Your lungs close and sweat wets your brown hair and palms.

"Water, then?" He asks, and you nod just so that he will stop expecting something from you. His smile wavers, but he doesn't inquire to your strange behavior and you suddenly feel your ribs snapping in half into your heart. A waitress on the other side of the room yelps and drops a glass full of wine on the ground, shattering the delicate material into thousands of tiny sharks prepared to piece anyone unfortunate enough to come in contact with them. Justin is the first to go to her aid, you watch as he runs over with a broom and begins to sweep under the feet of one customer and bring as many of the shards together as possible on the brown tile. The girl thanks him and he shakes his head with a smile and says what you imagine to be humility and reassurance that it was nothing.

For the rest of the dinner they chat amongst themselves, occasionally forcing an answer from you before Gavin or Sarah can answer first. You keep your eye on Justin, who you notice has a purple band-aid on his finger with a cartoon dinosaur on it. At first you think it is from the glass, but you remember that he used a broom, not his hands. You consider asking him what happened when he comes up again, but as he refills your glass with water your mouth becomes suddenly dry and you immediately snatch the glass from his hand and chug it down. After it is gone, you flush as he refills your glass immediately with an amused gleam in his eyes. It is then that you notice the paint under his nail is still there, but another color has taken it's place. Orange speckles are illuminated by an electric candle on the table, barely hidden under his nails.

When you pay for the meal, you give him a sizable tip and before you leave, you tell Sarah you will only be a minute. You scan the room for him and see a young couple as they walk in. The girl is blushing, although the man cannot notice because he is looking everywhere but the lady he brought in. You see his feet shuffle on the ground to get rid of excess energy while she fiddles with her purse.

Justin's blond hair catches your attention for a moment as he walks to another group with a pitcher of water. You change direction back to the door where Sarah is waiting and leave.

Day 42

"I can't believe you liked La Marie's that much."

You raise an eyebrow. "Why?"

"You just thought Lynn was sexy, was that it?"

"Who's Lynn?"

"That cocksucker your roommate brought. Next time can we go without him?" You stop listening to her then as she rattles on about how you hate her friends and how they'll be the ones to go to the new restaurant next time. You nod and grunt a few times while she is talking.

"Why don't we go to La Marie's next week? With your friends."

"That's fine. Now, sweetie, if I wait any longer I'm going to miss my flight." You must give her a confused stare, because her face twists in anger. "I told you I was going to visit my mom this weekend in L.A. God, don't you listen to anything?"

"Oh, right. I thought that was next weekend."

She gives you a kiss before she leaves, and you put on your brown slacks and white button up with a brown tie. You open your bookstore at eight every morning with your wrist watch held near your nose as you watch the seconds before unlocking the door. The store is small, crowded with shelves that, in turn, are shoved tight with books as well. You sit there and watch people walk past for about an hour, you make up a story for one business woman that was clearly having a bad hair day, and then you see him walk past.

He is wearing a navy blue sweat shirt and cargo pants. His hair is messy and his eyes are focused straight ahead as he walks briskly past the other people. You shoot up from your chair and jog outside and look over others head to catch a glimpse of his blond head.

But he is gone, and next time, you assure yourself, you will run outside.

Day 53

The next time you visit the restaurant, he is not there. You are irritated as you leave, and snap at Sarah throughout the entire dinner until she walks out on you. As she leaves you watch your water glass calm until the water stops moving. You pull out your phone and pull up the internet to search for artists named Justin in New York. A shocking amount of lists come up, and when the waiter comes to ask if you'd like the bill, you snap at him and don't leave a tip.

Eventually, you sit outside the restaurant browsing through the many Google sites that popped up on the screen. Clouds billowed overhead, threatening with each thunderous clap to release buckets of water on the streets of New York. You find a blog on the second page that belongs to a Justin Taylor and when you click on it, you see him on the front with another man.

Brown hair, lustful eyes as he playfully bit Justin's ear and had his arm wrapped around his torso. A drop of rain splashes on your hand as you look at them and in your mind you recreate the painting from the gallery. They were one and the same. Another drop followed the first, until you are forced to put your phone in your jacket pocket.

Day 64

"I'm sorry, Stephen. I just can't do this anymore."

She said it while you were sitting on the couch eating, yet again, a cold turkey sandwich that has a questionable expiration date. Gavin's door is open and the wall paper hanging off the wall has torn even further so it hangs about an inch from the ground.

"Do what?"

"This. Us. I'm sorry... it just -" Gavin is staring from his bed and when he meets your gaze he suddenly turns away. You shake your head and look back at the stale sandwich.

"How long?"

"I don't see how that matters -"

"How fucking long."

"... About two months."

She continues talking, Gavin walks in, but you simply stare at the wallpaper hanging off the wall. You stand up and push past Gavin to it and tear it off, ripping if from the wall and throwing it onto the ground. You step on it as you walk past them and when you hear Gavin shout at you to wait, you turn around to see him with his hand around her waist.

"It's fine." You tell him. "It doesn't matter."

You ignore the pain you see in her eyes and the confusion in his, and you step into the hall of your apartment building. It's brown walls blend in with an equally brown floor like you live in a brown box instead of a building. At the bottom of the stairs you collapse onto the last step and bury your face in your hands.

Day 71

For the last week you spent the nights sleeping on the hard tile at the bookstore with a blanket and pillow you bought from Wal-mart. Eventually, you are forced to go back to the apartment, so you wait until you are sure Gavin will be gone. When you get back to the store, you see two teenage boys standing outside. They are looking inside, one has his hat pressed against the glass while another is putting finger prints on there by putting both hands and his nose on the glass. They don't notice you until you are standing right behind them and put your suitcase on the damp ground.

The boy in the hat yelps and spins on his heel quickly. "I'm sorry, it just says that you open at eight and -"

"It's fine," you tell him with an eyebrow raised and then you take out your keys. "It's a Friday, shouldn't you be in school?"

"No, it's our day off."

You think they're lying, but you don't say anything about it. While they look around, you get on the computer at your desk and look up Justin's blog again. You look at the picture of him and the man from the picture and see the entry right below it: _Debbie sent this to me yesterday and wow. How come I look so much older but Brian still looks the same? Asshole._

You are smiling when the teenager in the hat comes up to the counter. The other boy refuses to come up, he pretends to look at the books while he asks, "Dude, do you have any comics here?"

"No. This is a bookstore. Not a comic book store."

"So. You should have both."

"No."

"Whatever, man. Jake, let's go."

You ignored them both as they left, slamming the door shut with a bang that was left unnoticed. You scrolled down the page, seeing a more recent picture with a red haired woman and a flamboyant man that had eyeliner on. Justin's hair was shorter and his smile was wider than when he smiled at you. There is another picture of the man in the painting, Brian, you recall.

At the end of the day you head to the restaurant and get a table by yourself. You look around and see eyes glance your way and suddenly your table seems too large for you and your glass of water too full to finish. You see his hair bounce as he hurries out the door and without thinking you bolt out of your chair after him like a lion. The waiter that was headed to your table stops and stares at you as you brush past him.

Justin doesn't see you. He pulls on his jacket as he walks and keeps his attention on staying out of the way of others, yet you still hide behind poles when you think he will turn around. He doesn't. He seems oblivious to you, but you think that is too good to be true. You follow him all the way to his apartment, which is similar to yours in appearance and, you imagine, must be the cheapest in the area. The twentieth story in a building without an elevator takes the breath from you as you try to stay a turn behind him and when he enters the first door you sigh in relief and crumble into a mess of pants and sweat on the top step.

You hear nothing for several minutes, and then it occurs to you that maybe he just came home to change. You hurry down the stairs like a cop was on your tail and sit down at the bench next to the bus stop next to Justin's building. The arm of the bench has a piece of pink bubble gum stuck to it that glistened in the sun. You focus your eyes on it and the surrounding faded brown bench. The bus comes and stops in front of you but you wave it on. After it is gone, you bury your face in your hands.

"Ugh, what the hell am I doing?" However, despite a few curses, the clouds overhead, and your phone buzzing in your pants, you stay where you are. He walks out an hour later and, before you can turn away, he sees you. He smiles in your direction and you are certain it was directed at you.

Day 80

For an entire day you clean your bookstore. Scrubbing, washing, dusting, and even buying a new computer after a rather large woman came in and bought fifty books. She claimed it was for her entire family because their birthdays were so close, but you know better. The books she chose were not classics or action or fantasy – they were romance. The type of romance with a man and a woman on the cover with their privates almost showing. Only one book in the entire pile was worth something, which was Alice in Wonderland.

By the middle of the second day you look around for any specs of dirt that escaped your watchful eye but the place is spotless. The little hand of the clock turns to the five far to quickly and when you turn the lock of the bookstore, you cannot begin to fathom why you are standing outside instead of the inside.

First you go to La Marie's and glance inside the windows, only to be disappointed that he was not inside. However, just as you are turning the corner, you notice a black BMW drive around the corner, and when you look back you see a familiar blond head shut the door and lean on the open window.

"I get off at ten, okay?"

"That's a shitty shift," the driver says.

"Yeah well, it was the best I could do on short notice. Call ahead next time instead of when you are getting on the fucking plane." Justin is smiling, bigger and brighter than you have ever seen him, just like the picture with Brian on his blog. Your throat tightens. He waves at the man in the car, then enters La Marie's without looking back. The BMW flips around and drives back the way he came, but his window was open and as he passed, you see the face of the man from the picture for only a moment before he is gone.

You go back to Justin's apartment and see that the BMW is not in sight, so you go all the way up. Your muscles ache by the end of the trek and you remember what Justin said the night you met.

"I didn't want to display it because I'm not selling it."

Fifty-three days since you first saw into his soul. That painting, you know, is part of him even if it is of that other man. His hands at his side, the energy in the colors surrounding them. You can't help but remember when your father was in the hospital dying and when you arrived, he gave you the keys to his bookstore with hope in his eyes. You couldn't say no then, you didn't tell him that you wanted to be an editor, not a bookstore clerk. And when he died, it was too late and you were left with his keys and his life and his dreams.

So you got a girlfriend, an apartment, and continued to run his bookstore like it was your life and your desires. And when you look at his door and think of the paintings he works and how he must get distracted to get paint under his nails. You imagine how he works, and how much you would love to see him and be the one he embraces when he takes a break. You wonder what it would be like to be like the man in the picture – fearless and free.

When you do it, you don't realize you did it until the door slams against the inside wall with an imprint of your shoe next to the knob. You stand there shocked at your actions, shuddering in the hall praying no one comes out to see you. Someone's handle turns, so you run inside and slam the door shut. Voices go past in the hallway, but disappear quickly and you sigh in relief.

Inside, there is a half finished painting sitting on a wooden tripod across from the window, as if Justin had wanted to use only sunlight. There were several paintings, some finished while others were discarded. Comics cover the floor but you only recognize the big names like Batman. You think he has just moved in, but when you make it to the bedroom, you see everything unpacked and the painting of Brian on the wall. The bed is ruffled and the room stinks of sex.

There is nothing left to see, so you grab the painting and take a cab back to your bookstore where you hang it in the backroom where only you can see it.

Day 86

You avoid any contact with Justin for an entire week and take solace in the backroom, staring at your theft. Within three days you are at the end of your rope, your muscles ache and every time you sit up in the morning, little pops echo from your back. So, you start to look for an apartment far away from Gavin and Sarah, who you've managed to avoid despite the phone calls and emails. Once Gavin shows up at the bookstore and the moment you see him you lock the door and turn the open sign over.

"Dude, come on! At least talk to me." Gavin curses and pounds at the door a few times, then he goes silent. You ignore him and begin to rearrange the books on the shelf farthest from the door. The back door is ajar, and when you look to your right you see the painting and you relax.

You wait until you are sure he is gone before you slip out and head to La Marie's. You don't see the BMW, yet inside you see him pouring a customer a glass of water. There are dark circles under his eyes, but he smiles a big toothy grin at the person sitting at the table. You lean over to get a better view of the person, however the window ends before you get a good look at him.

He taps his toe against the ground as he stands by the register and you swear he looks your way. On your way home, you stop by a local convenience store and pick up a round box with bunnies on the side of it and a few bars of candy and leftover Easter filling. At first, you worry it is not good enough and so you purchase a golden chain and place it inside. You take one more look at the tiny blue bag inside the box before you cover it with a white envelope and send it in the mail.

Day 92

One apartment listing was in the building next to Justin's, so you take a look at it and, despite the shabby carpet and kitchen smaller than the one you had, you take it. You've barely moved in, taking only what you can from your previous apartment when Gavin is gone and have set up a blow up mattress. However, the painting has been placed on the wall across from your bed and at night you stare at it as you fall asleep.

You turn your new digital camera over in your hands, you run your fingertips against the cool metal and take a picture of your bedroom. You slip the camera into your pocket and leave the apartment into the darkness of the early morning. There is a bus stop next to your building and you sit down on the bench with your body turned just enough to see if Justin comes out of his building.

The sun rises slowly over the horizon and is soon hidden above yet another string of storms coming off the coast. You bury your hands into your pockets and pull your jacket close to you. The puddles from the previous night's sprinkle reflect the gray clouds in their murky depths until a drop of rain splashes distorts the image with ripples. You are mesmerized by the circles starting at the center of the puddle that expand until they are destroyed by the edges. A brown tennis shoe stomps into the puddle as Justin walks off the curb to cross the street.

As you reach the more commonly traveled streets, you fear that you will lose him before you can capture his smile on film. In his hand is a large square board with random paint marks and marker stains, as if he had decided to doodle on it last minute. You smile at this, and continue to follow him down the street as the rain starts to come down faster. There are less people on the streets, however, their umbrellas obstruct your view of the blond boy. You see him look up at the sky with a frown, then take cover inside a small convenience store.

"Damn weatherman said it wouldn't rain." He curses and takes a cell phone out of his pocket and taps a message into his phone. You follow in around him and wait down the aisle. You look at his pale skin and blond hair and you can't help but frown when you see his brown roots. His pants fit snug to his butt, emphasizing how round it is, like a woman's. Your eyes start from his worn Nike tennis shoes to the bottom of his blue jeans. He groans and rolls his eyes at the ceiling and you see the curves of his throat and the pink remains of a hickey from the previous week. Your cheeks heat up at the sight of another at the nape of his neck and one more right under his ear.

He looks around at the store so you quickly hide behind a pillar of soda and try to refrain from peeking at him. You begin to pretend to look at the beer in the cooler in front of you, and although you don't care that Bud Light is ten percent off, you grab a six pack and move from your hiding place. When you begin to go down the aisle, you can feel his eyes on you as you reach the register and pay for the beer. As you are handing the cashier your credit card, you notice a bin full of umbrellas out and grab one.

"Excuse me. Could you please add this on?"

"Sure."

You lean forward as you give her the card and whisper, "Could you give it to the blond over there after I leave? He looks like he needs to favor."

She frowns but nods. Once you leave, you wait at the corner until he exits the store with the purple umbrella in his hand. He looks at it, his face scrunched in concentration, but he opens the umbrella and protects the case.

You look up what he was holding that night on the internet and find out it held art supplies. And when you check his blog for another entry, you are pleased to find he has written about the mysterious umbrella incident.

Day 98

You see Gavin and Sarah for the first time when you go to the apartment to pick up another load of clothes. They are sitting on the couch in nothing but sheets in pillows. You consider just leaving, but Gavin stands straight up butt naked in surprise and you stare at his tanned skin and tight abs and how his sweat shimmers on his skin. Gavin grabs a pillow and covers himself with it, his face was flushed bright red and his ears were pink. Sarah had the sheet wrapped around her torso just enough to cover her nipples, but she acted unaware that he could still see the pink outline through the white sheet.

"Stephen! I didn't know you were coming -"

"I'm just here to pick up my stuff. Sorry to interrupt." Your mind wanders to Justin as you make your way past them to your bedroom. You imagine him to have a six pack and once he is spent, his body glows and his lips would be bright red.

"We need to talk."

"No we don't."

"But..." Sarah pauses, her eyes waters and her lips are pressed tightly together. "Please, Stephen. I don't want to be why you guys stop being friends."

Your eyes go to where the torn wallpaper was, but where there used to be orange was white paint. You can see the outline of the tear in the wallpaper, along with the lines and other tears along the wall. The lights are brighter, the room illuminated in white light that reflected off the wall in a way that wasn't possible when it was orange. Gavin follows your line of sight and he shakes his head. "We didn't feel like tearing down the wallpaper."

"Of course you didn't." Without another word, you grab your bag and leave, slamming the door behind you.

Day 99

You first picture of him took you the entire afternoon to get. Every time you lifted up your camera, you swear he turns to look your way and you flinch and hide the camera. Eventually, when he was focused on sketching a mother and daughter, you snap your camera and turn pink when you see it displayed on the little screen. You leave with twenty pictures of him and you waste no time in getting them developed.

You are surprised that Gavin paid to have your bed delivered to you as an act of good faith. You lay down on your bed with your feet hanging off the side and go through your pictures of Justin. You tape them to the wall next to your bed and your heart swells and suddenly you want to hear his voice again.

You go on his blog and read the entries there for a third time. His layout has changed from dark overtones to an image of the picture in your room on the latest blog. You read: Going back to the Pitts soon!

Underneath was a image of a group of people in front of a restaurant called Five Guys. Justin it standing on the right with Brian, you notice that Brian's fingers peek out from Justin's waist and Justin is leaning back into him. Next to them is a woman in her late forties with a thirty year old holding her hand and kissing her cheek. There three others there – one slender man with a black shirt with a drag queen on it, one with a stripped red shirt and brown hair and another with bright freckles and red hair. Some of them could be mistaken as siblings.

You kick the computer and the image blinks off the screen. Later that night you cannot get the machine to start up again and you can't bear to go see Justin at La Marie's after such a display. Instead, you sit on your bed with his picture parallel to your eyes on the wall and look at a calendar. You count the days since you first met him and realize that tomorrow will mark one hundred days since you met. You fall asleep imaging your arm wrapped around his torso with your nose in his hair, breathing in his scent and his love.

Day 100

You go to the store and by a new computer so that you can order comics as a congratulations for yourself and Justin for making it through the first one hundred days together. You think he will be pleased by how many comics he had lying around, and you can't help but smile the entire time. You think of the kids that had complained about it, and wish they would come back just so you could show them what will be an impressive beginning of a comic section.

When you do finally see Justin it is at La Marie's when you go to dinner alone. He, once again, is not your waiter but he stares at you for a moment with his brows pinched together. It takes you a few minutes to figure out whether or not he is wearing the chain you sent him, and you are disappointed to see that he is not.

There is nothing left on his neck to mar his skin and you smile when you see him walk by. The restaurant is not busy, but there is plenty for Justin to do as he walks briskly past you if there is no other way around. The foursome couple he is waiting on barely notice his presence as he refills their water glasses and offer them another glass of wine only to be ignored.

After dinner you sit outside the restaurant and wait for him to end his shift. You wait for three hours before he comes out and he walks by without so much as a glance in your direction. The sky is mostly clear now, yet there are a few clouds reluctant to leave New York and continue to threaten you with rain. This time, however, is different. Justin goes a different way home and you follow behind him, confused by his sudden change of pace and strange turns.

The darkness envelops him as he walks faster down a backstreet until you can barely see him. Another figure cuts off Justin's path and you stay a safe distance away to watch the situation. The man is in his late forties, his hair has not been brushed in weeks and his coat was speckles with chunks of dirt and trash. You don't hear what he says because the man whispers it and jerks his hand in his pocket.

"I don't have my wallet." Justin's voice carries over to you clear as he speaks and you consider going to help him. Then his you see him glance in your direction as he says, "and I don't believe you have a gun."

You dial 911, give the woman an obscure description of where you are while she tracks your cell phone. Justin begins to walk away, the outline in his back pocket is unmistakable, and the mugger cries out in outrage.

You throw down your phone and run to him. Justin turns around, you focus on his hands, how they spasm and clench together, then reach out to catch him after you push him out of the way. He cries out, your head pulses, the mugger pushes you back to gain balance and staggers against the wall. At first you feel nothing. You hear someone groan, whether it is you or Justin you can't tell, and hear panicked footsteps echo down the alley. Your stomach is wet and your legs collapse under you, the world spins and your nerves catch fire. Your world continues to spin until Justin comes into view and suddenly the surrounding spins around him. He is on his phone babbling to authorities, begging them to hurry, and his eyes met yours every few moments. Tears distort your already black rimmed vision and you grasp the knife in your fingers. You smile when you meet his eyes again and pull the knife out.

"Stop!" Justin yells and you feel his hands press into the wound, coming inside of you for a split second before he moves to take off his jacket and use it to stop the blood. "Come on – the paramedics will be here soon you gotta hold on, I just, I'm sorry I knew you there there and I thought -"

You shake your head and leave a trail of blood from the tips of your fingers on his cheek and down to his chin. He stays with you until the ambulance arrives and you hear him claim to be family so he can go to the hospital with you. You close your eyes and think of every day you had with Justin and as you are rushed into the hospital you see the clock. Round, white, the little hand pointed straight up at the peppered ceiling and the big hand perpendicular to it. You think of the one hundred and one days you had together until you can think no more.


End file.
